


Goes around, comes around

by Elisexyz



Series: Shoulder to shoulder [2]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Christmas Isn't Canon, Drinking & Talking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-19 17:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19137316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: It's Iris' birthday. Flynn is handling it about as well as you would expect.





	Goes around, comes around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissCrazyWriter321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/gifts), [SallyExactly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallyExactly/gifts).



> DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, THEY LITERALLY ASKED FOR IT. Credit to Misscrazywriter321 for coming up with the idea ~~and to my self-control for going on strike. I literally came up with this a day after reading the comment.~~  
>    
>  This is a follow-up to my other Flynn&Mason fic, set in an AU in which it took a few days for the solution to Rufus' death to present itself, so Flynn had time to play therapist to poor Mason and there was some bonding over having lost children. Now Mason wants to repay the favour.

If anyone asks, he’s doing crosswords.

Garcia glances at the open book on his lap, his brain miraculously managing to put together that he hasn’t even filled half a box.

If anyone asks, he’s really bad at crosswords.

It isn’t all that unusual for him to stay locked up in his room for most of the day: lately, he has been more sociable than he would have dreamed possible when he first joined the team, but sometimes he still needs to unwire, to put a stop to the chatter surrounding him, and short of killing everybody in the bunker the only way he can do that is by locking himself up in his room.

The only one who probably cares, if a little, is Lucy, but she understands his need for solitude, and she will only come to check on him by the end of the day, if he hasn’t been seen at all.

It’s only the afternoon. He has time.

For what, he isn’t sure: muster up a decent enough smile that she won’t realize there’s a problem? Find a way to _talk_ to her about it?

Deep down, he knows he _could_. He knows she would listen, he knows she would hold him tight the whole night if he dared to ask, because he’s done it for her plenty of times and she’s just that kind.

Yet, as much as something in him is pulling to make him talk, to grab that comfort and hold onto it – onto _her_ – like a lifeline, he can already feel the words slipping away. How do you even _start_ a conversation like that?

Iris would be ten today. He can’t even begin to imagine what she would look like, because she died at the age of five and, try as he might, he can feel her disappear, little details of her expressions and voice melting away with every day he doesn’t get to hold her.

She and Lorena used to be an ever-present ache in his chest, he’d think of them a thousand times a day, he’d never let himself forget. Now, sometimes life goes on, without them, and it drags him with it.

(What’s worse is that sometimes he enthusiastically follows along of his own volition.)

Maybe that’s why his little girl’s birthday hits him twice as hard, and he hasn’t been able to think about anything else all day.

He can’t unload all that on Lucy. She would let him, but that’s no reason to let himself lean on her with such a weight.

She has been doing better, he can see it: she and Wyatt are a little less awkward around each other every day, she doesn’t avoid Jessica like the plague, she smiles brighter, she comes to him without alcohol at hand, sometimes wanting to talk until she’s too tired to keep her eyes open, sometimes just wanting to read in his silent company.

She has been doing so much better, and he isn’t going to drag her back down just because he has forgotten to undergo his punishment for a while and maybe he doesn’t quite know how to shoulder it anymore.

(Did he ever, though?)

The knocks on the door surprise him, and for a moment he contemplates just ignoring the problem, hoping that whoever it is will soon go away.

Only it could be an emergency: he didn’t hear the alarm, but there could be something else, and he wouldn’t put it past himself right now to space out long enough not to notice horrified screaming.

“What?” he calls out, trying not to make it sound too unfriendly, because there’s also a good chance that it’s just Lucy, who somehow realized that today he isn’t just brooding because that’s who he is and has come to check on him earlier than he expected.

The only answer he gets are two other knocks, more insistent.

He grunts his disapproval as he pushes himself off bed, vaguely registering that he probably isn’t presentable and that if his face looks half as bad as he feels he might just scare her off, and he walks up to the door, opening it with another: ‘What?’.

It takes him a few seconds of stunned silence to fully register that it isn’t Lucy that he’s looking at. It’s Connor.

“Hello,” he greets, casually. He gives him a pointed onceover that fails in any way to be discreet – Garcia can feel the _judgement_ radiating off him, if he listens carefully –, then he smiles up to him like there is nothing weird about this situation.

“Yes?” Garcia doesn’t even bother trying to mask that it’s a solicitation to tell him what’s going on and get out of his hair.

They are not properly _friends_ — hell, they hardly talk. Garcia has offered a listening ear when they didn’t yet know that they’d manage to travel back to Chinatown to save Rufus from his fate, one childless father to another, but that was about it. Connor never formally thanked him, and although he seemed to be a little more in his way than usual, they didn’t have any more one-on-one time.

Garcia can’t say that he minds: he isn’t eager to revisit the subject. He can only hope that Connor didn’t choose today of all days to bring it up, because there’s a good chance that he’s going to slam the door in his face with only mild regret.

“I noticed that you haven’t eaten all day.” Connor shows him a tray with what looks suspiciously like an English breakfast. In the afternoon. “Denise has yet to refill the fridge, so I put together what seemed to be less likely to give you food poisoning.”

Garcia isn’t sure what he should say to that.

‘I’m not hungry’ is close to the truth and should get him some more peace. It’s also probably rude.

“May I come in?” Connor adds, before Garcia can get the words out.

Whatever, might as well.

He steps aside, letting him walk in with his food offering. Connor leaves the tray on his poor excuse of a bedside table, sitting down on the bed without even asking, while Garcia automatically closes the door behind him.

“What’s this about?” he decides to ask, half-hoping that they might get it over with sooner rather than later. Given that he wanted to be let in, he can safely assume that it isn’t only about the food.

Connor claps his hands on his tights, pressing his lips together before answering: “Well. It will probably not come as a surprise that I didn’t trust you at all when you first joined this team.”

“So?” Garcia prompts, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. Is he going to start informing him about the wonders of boiled water next?

“To ease my worry a bit, particularly when you took part to your first mission, I have— thoroughly inspected your file.”

Garcia’s breath catches in his throat when he begins to realize where this is going. Goddammit.

“Thoroughly enough to— let’s suppose that I remember this date perfectly well.”

“Let’s not,” Garcia mutters, trying to imagine if he could simply grab him by the collar and physically throw him out.

He probably could. The mere thought also requires way more energy than he has available at the moment. He isn’t sure it’s worth it.

“I believe that after the—the _accident_ in Chinatown you offered me a listening ear,” Connor continues, either completely ignoring him or too busy talking to notice his reaction. “So, although I can’t in all honestly say that shutting up is my strongest suit, I’d be willing to give it a try.”

“There is no debt to pay off here,” Garcia quickly says. “I’m not a talker.”

“Which is why _that_ —” He points at the bottle on the tray. “—is _not_ water.”

That gets a snort out of Garcia, as he shakes his head slightly.

“It would be a pity to waste it,” he comments, grabbing the bottle and sitting on the bed too, if at a reasonable distance from Connor. “I’m still not talking,” he warns, with a pointed glance.

“Really?” Connor feigns surprise, taking the bottle off him to open it up and have the first sip. “I’m told it helps,” he pokes, benevolently.

“Call me an idiot then,” Garcia mutters, bile raising up at the mere thought of _actually_ doing it. Explaining how he’s feeling can only make it even worse for him. It’s already swallowing him whole, the last thing he needs is to bring even more attention to that black hole.

(Maybe Vodka on an empty stomach is not a sound decision. He doesn’t care much.)

Connor wordlessly passes the bottle over, only snorting at his comment.

“I’ve seen a picture,” he says, quietly, after letting the silence stretch for a while. “They were both really beautiful.”

Garcia swallows something thick, tears prickling behind his eyes as he nods. “Yeah,” he lets out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t really remember how much.” He takes two sips, big enough that for a second it feels like he might choke on them, and with his throat burning and his eyes stinging the words finally slip away. “Iris would be ten today,” he says, and after that it becomes less about dragging the words out and more about keeping the flood at bay.

(He completely fails, but Connor lets him talk even when he stops making much sense, and he graciously doesn’t mention the tears that at some point start leaking out.)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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